


Like A Phoenix

by TifosaAtHeart (F1_Fanatic)



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, F/M, Rivalry, Sequel, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24794674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/F1_Fanatic/pseuds/TifosaAtHeart
Summary: Sebastian has been a champion. AFerrarichampion. But he's falling apart and everyone knows it, his own team included.Set in myDynamics of Loveuniverse but can also be read as a stand alone.
Relationships: Charles Leclerc & Sebastian Vettel, Sebastian Vettel/Original Female Character
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	Like A Phoenix

**Author's Note:**

> Me: I want a break from this universe.  
> Also me:*slaps down 17k words set in this universe*
> 
> Part of the inspiration for this is the current situation at Ferrari and with Seb as well as last season. I think I have velified Charles a little too much in this so if it's not something you'd like to read, please don't go ahead or we can agree that this only a fictional version of him. Just please don't come yell at me that this is not an accurate representation of facts.
> 
> If you have read [Dynamics of Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17564282/chapters/41393552) (which you don't have to in order for this to make sense), I think it works better if we assume that Jessica didn't work with Charles in chapter 21. Also, I didn't include Fabrizio because I felt that he would complicate things too much.
> 
> Get comfortable, grab some snacks 'cause it's long and I truly hope you enjoy it!

It has been a few years.

Jessica is no longer that hot headed girl that stormed out of Mercedes for Ferrari. Well, she's still hot headed but she has years of experience working with the Scuderia, a championship under her belt and soft wrinkles around her eyes when she smiles.

Maranello, however, remains absolutely the same. Still breathing and living for the legend of Ferrari. Still so willing to embrace you like you've been part of it forever if you climb on that top spot of the podium wearing bright red overalls. And at the same time, still cruel enough to chew you up and spit you out when you start falling apart.

There's a corridor inside the team's factory, leading up to the offices of the racing department, where they have a picture framed for each of their champions. There's Ascari, then there's Fangio, then there's Lauda, then Schumacher and then... Then, there's Seb.

Jessica pauses in front of his picture, smiling fondly. It's a fine shot, him spraying champagne over the team on that podium in Abu Dhabi with a huge grin on his face and tears sparkling in his blue eyes. It triggers so many memories.

The year that he finally achieved his boyhood dream and won the championship with Ferrari had been an intense one. And though there are moments she wishes she could go back and fix, overall it doesn't leave a sour taste in her mouth. Seb's singing on the radio when she told him the title was his and his smile afterwards as the Italian national anthem succeeded the German one, is a sight she will continue to cherish for years to come.

She sighs; if only they could have this back. Seb had been so hopeful when they wrapped up that campaign, _everyone_ had been so hopeful that this was only the beginning of a new empire rather than just the odd one out. God, if they haven't been met with a punch in the gut ever since... Actually, no. It has been multiple punches in the gut.

A small flaw in the design the year after Seb won his championship and that was it. Season done, Mercedes was triumphing again. From then onwards, it has just escalated from bad to terrible. The car became an undrivable beast the following couple of years and as a consequence, Seb has ended up binning it more than a few times. He has crashed out of races, spun on his own, collected a car or two...

The press is trying to chop off his head because of those mistakes, calling him a few names and undermining what he has achieved. Jessica sees deeper than this, however. She's an engineer, after all. She makes a living out of calculations and analyzing things to a fault. Sebastian hasn't forgotten how to drive nor has he lost his edge overnight. He just doesn't feel comfortable in his own skin, doesn't trust that his own car won't attempt to murder him if he carries a touch more speed than necessary into a corner, and simply doesn't like the way it responds to him. If it all clicks together, he's still one of the best the racing world has ever seen.

Unfortunately, time is ticking against him. The ever so adoring tifosi can be utterly demanding at times. They want results. The press wants results. The big wigs in the team want results. They all want to see something to bless on track and they want it fast or their patience might run out. And from the bottom of her heart Jessica wishes she's wrong but it feels like the team's faith in Seb to deliver those results is thinning out and they're already looking at other options.

Jessica grits her teeth. It would be so much easier if they could just go back to this...

Someone exhales a puff of air next to her, sounding broken and defeated and she can practically picture the sad smile on those lips.

“Good old days” Sebastian says as if reading her mind and then a kiss is dropped over the top of her head.

Jessica shifts so as to see his face and immediately frowns. “What kind of a face is this?” She playfully bumps his shoulder and smiles at him encouragingly. “We have a deal, remember? We'll get you a few more of those shiny championship trophies to decorate your living room with.”

Sebastian laughs and for the first time in a long while it actually sounds genuine and not as if he had to fake it for the cameras. “Of course, Jess.”

They're in for a meeting in Maranello today to talk about the oncoming season and take care of a few loose ends. The regulations are changing this year and there are a couple of new faces coming into the team. Mattia is stepping up from the technical department to take charge as team principal. And of course, Seb will have a new teammate, Ferrari's rising prodigy. The one and only Charles Leclerc.

Charles seems nice, smiling nervously as they both shake hands with him in the briefing room. They've met him before; being a part of the Ferrari academy, Charles would always hang around them during Grand Prix weekends. But today is the first time either of them pays any real attention to him, looks at him and sees deeper than the charming young man that has dimples on his cheeks and dreams of conquering the racing world in the red car. With the way he carries himself on and even off track, you'd assume he had a much more older head on his shoulder. But he's just twenty one and excited as hell to jump into a Ferrari and take it out for a spin. He's young, he's ambitious and with a sharp glint in his eyes.

Which is also dangerous because he's still discovering the limits within himself. He has only done one season with Sauber and he'd been getting stellar results through it. He hasn't tasted defeat or failure. He doesn't know how it feels like to have no one to blame but yourself. He doesn't know what it takes to haul yourself off the ground after a nightmare of a weekend and still have enough of a level head to throw the car around in over 300 kph the very next one. He's tipped to break records and join the greats one day. How can you convince a guy like that that the sky does have a limit, that no matter how much you love something, it may still come back to bite you?

Jessica is watching with a frown as Seb and Charles pose for pictures during pre season testing in Barcelona. They've been acting like the bestest of mates since they both stepped into the paddock this morning. Seb's occasional banter and light hearted teasing followed by Charles' soft laughter is echoing through the serenity of the garage. And while she doesn't doubt Seb's genuine feelings, she's not so sure Charles can be trusted.

With Seb's last few seasons having gone down the drain, his mind is still not in a very good place. He might act like everything is fine around the rest of the team but Jessica knows that it's been eating up on him. He's been doubting himself, doubting his abilities on the race track and whether he really deserves his championships. Jessica knows because she's been the one to hold him through it, swipe away the tears and promise that although it might hurt and feel like the end of the world now, very soon the tables will turn around.

Now, with the promise of a brand new season and a brand new car, he is slowly progressing into a better place. He's smiling more those days, that heartfelt grin and cheeky jokes are back and she just feels her heart melt for him. She can't let Charles destroy this all.

Charles' manager dives towards him to whisper something to him and Jessica's scowl etches deeper into her brow. Right, she'd forgotten about that.

Charles comes into a package with his manager, Nicolas Todt, who is practically the face behind all of Charles' on track success. The man has something creepy about him, something in the way he looks at you as if weighing you up and down that makes you want to seal an agreement with him rather than fight him.

But Jessica isn't interested in making deals with the devil.

“Hey, engineer.” Sebastian pops up behind her, winding an arm around her neck, smiling at her in mischief, and she rolls her eyes.

At least, Sebastian is happy. And from what his feedback indicates after he's driven the car that afternoon, quite comfortable in it as well. For the moment, that's enough, and so she pushes the rest in the back of her mind.

It's their first race as teammates and seeing the way they interact in the fan zone in Melbourne, the warm Australian sun shining down on them and both buzzing with excitement for the new season, you'd think it's all nice and amicable in Ferrari. And for the time being, it really is. Everything it would take, however, for things to hit the fan and spiral out of control is one split second, and they do say better safe than sorry.

“What about fifty-fifty situations?” Jessica asks, mindful to wipe any trace of emotion off her face and appear neutral.

Mattia has gathered her, Charles' engineer and a few other key members in the team to give them the last directions concerning the team's approach this year. So, she should start counting Nicolas Todt as important, considering that he's seated amongst them taking notes of what is being said.

“We'll treat every race differently” Mattia explains in response to her question. “But at least in the beginning, our priority will be Seb. He has vast experience in racing and thus a more realistic chance to fight Mercedes for the championship if the car is competitive enough.”

Well, that's good to know. Her heart calms down in her chest and settles back into its normal beating pattern.

Nicolas, though, doesn't look pleased.

“So, you want my driver to be given orders” he states what Mattia has only implied between the lines with a tight jaw and tilts his head to one side, as if challenging the older Italian to fight him.

And Mattia has to sigh and promise, “Your driver will get the chance to prove himself.”

Very soon, it comes to this.

Seb is stuck with an ugly strategy during the Australian Grand Prix and in the closing laps he's just looking to nurse those tyres home and grab yet another podium finish. She knows he already has enough in his mind, especially when he's also saving fuel, and that realistically there's not enough time but still...

“Charles is approaching fast behind you.”

As if on cue, Mattia yanks on his headphones and presses the radio button. “Charles, this is Mattia. Please hold position.”

There's no way he's going to agree to that.

“But I'm faster...”

And to prove that, he sets about lapping the quickest around Albert Park, even on used rubber.

“I thought you said he's been told?” Sebastian's confusion can practically be heard in his voice.

Jessica sighs, rubbing her temples with one hand. “Well, we're racing him now.”

Within a few laps, Charles is on Seb's tail, attempting to dive up on the inside far too many times even in places where you wouldn't normally dare to. At some point, his front wheels brake on Seb's rear ones and while, thank god, it's not with enough momentum to cause one or both of them to spin out, it's certainly enough to irk Sebastian.

“What the hell is this guy doing?” he seethes down the radio and justly so, Jessica has to give him that.

Mattia comes on the radio again, “Charles, for one last time, please hold position.”

After a few more futile attempts to pass his teammate, Charles eventually lifts his foot off the throttle and gives up and Sebastian cruises across the line, a very frustrating third.

In the drivers' cool down room, waiting for their names to be called, he gulps down water eagerly, trying to suppress his emotions as the screens frantically replay his battle with Charles. Lewis is standing beside him, commenting a _jeez_ when his teammate almost wipes him out.

Sebastian doesn't get it. Through the years, he has watched countless young guys come in from the junior series, filled with dreams and aspirations and hungry for success. He has been that guy. Once, and forever ago but he knows the way the mind works. Charles isn't after any of this. He's not testing and sometimes willingly crossing the limits for fame and glory. Sure, that's a bonus but it's almost as if he's doing this to prove a point, and it's slowly turning into an obsession. This is just his second year in the deep end of the pool, after all, his first in a car that could give him a shot in the championship and they're not even sure the car is that good. Sebastian fails to wrap his head around this whole thing.

He manages to find Charles alone after they have both wrapped up their interviews and as gently as he can, he asks about the reason behind this whole thing. They're teammates, after all, two halves of one entity, and the one's actions inevitably impact the other as well.

The response he receives, however, is nothing that would have crossed his mind.

Charles' eyes are stormy and cold and his jaw clenched as he speaks what mostly resembles a warning, “I'm here to win, Sebastian. And I won't play second fiddle to anyone.”

Sebastian's lips press together into a silent _oh_. So, Charles is indeed trying to prove a point. That he's faster. Faster than Seb.

Charles storms off and Sebastian leans against a wall, sighing. This has every existing prospect to turn into something ugly. But if it's a fight Charles is after, then a fight he'll get.

* * *

Charles is faster in Bahrain. And Seb always kinda knew that if pole was to be decided between the Ferraris, it was bound to go to Charles. Still, there's nothing he wouldn't give to wipe that grin off his teammate's face as they go through questions side by side in the press pen, shoulders bumping and voices frequently blending.

“Points are handed in the race so we're going to be racing flat out tomorrow.” Sebastian leaves no room for argument.

“While we did good today, there's no guarantee this will be the case tomorrow, too” Charles agrees next to him the exact same time, which, unbeknownst to them both, causes their press agents to exchange a glance behind their respective driver's back, matching frowns of confusion between their brows.

(Seb quite likes Charles' press officer. A sweet half Croatian girl in her mid twenties, she has followed his teammate to Ferrari from where she previously worked for Sauber and always has a why-is-this-my-life sort of look whenever she's handling Charles' press duties. That fact alone is enough for Sebastian to flash her a smile each time he stumbles upon her in the paddock.)

Except the race is no different story. Though Seb manages to take the lead in the first corner, it's short-lived and Charles cruises to victory.

On the podium and while his teammate loses himself in celebrations, the high of the first victory catching up with him, Sebastian can't help the scowl from etching on his face. Even the knowledge that the team is over the moon with their first one-two since forever isn't enough to shake off his sour mood.

He knows he didn't give it all he could this weekend. He knows he wasn't really losing that much as the time sheets make it out to seem and that he still had something left in him to fight with. He's just not quite sure what is that. And because of this, he can't be happy.

Shanghai is even tougher.

Charles' dominant win in Bahrain has stirred a frenzy in the media, especially the Italian ones. They're praising him constantly it seems and from glimpses Sebastian has caught here and there in the headlines those past two weeks they deem him to be some sort of a Messiah that Ferrari desperately needs in order to return back on top.

And honestly, Sebastian gets it. What he hasn't achieved in years, Charles has achieved it and then some in just his second race for the team. He has put pressure on the Mercedes guys, reminded them that Ferrari is never to be underestimated and despite all their recent problems, they can still pose a threat. In the meantime, all Sebastian was capable of is second place and sulking, big deal apparently.

In the press pen on Thursday morning, he has to repeat at least a million times how happy he is for Charles and his maiden win. His face is stoic, however, devoid of any emotion whatsoever and his usual smile morphs into just a slight curl of his lips as he talks about Charles. Honestly, whoever came up with this PR line must've been a total idiot. He can accept that sometimes he's just not fast enough and his teammate is and he can suck this up. Doesn't mean he has to be a picture of joy while doing that. At this point, he's just following Britta's orders to act the way he's expected to and be a team player. 

“It's a brand new race this weekend and I'd much rather to focus on this” he adds after singing Charles' praises when the questions about the Bahrain Grand Prix start to irk him, winking and with a confidence he doesn't feel.

He's happy to be back in the car on Friday, sick and tired of press obligations and sponsor duties, and it's positive that he feels comfortable with the set up. Reading through telemetry printouts that confirm he's indeed faster than his teammate in every single sector after practice sessions on Friday elates Seb's mood.

Saturday gives him hope. He's faster in FP3 and although he misses pole in the end, second place on the grid tomorrow means the game is very much on.

Sunday is when he drives his heart out. He's fighting Lewis for the lead even during the final laps, Sebastian having ended up there after a bold move halfway through and a smart strategy. He holds off the Mercedes and takes the checkered flag.

Charles isn't able to do much higher than fifth on a weekend where he generally struggled for pace and pumping his fist in the air in parc ferme as a winner this time, Sebastian can't help but feel vindicated in a sense.

* * *

“Ms Riley, glad you could make it.”

Jessica smiles politely at Louis Camilleri and his entourage of high profile team members as they stand up from their seats to greet her. She grasps the extended hand firmly, “I'm sorry we weren't able to put on more of a show for you.”

The Spanish Grand Prix hasn't been a good race, the Ferraris have finished fourth and fifth and quite off the pace. But this seems the norm lately, given that a third place for Seb and fifth for Charles was all they could manage in Baku two weeks ago.

Camilleri, though, shrugs it off with a wave of his hand. “Don't worry about it, we have more important things to talk about.”

She tries to keep a smile on her face but her eyes immediately seek Mattia, the Italian sitting on her right and inspiring her of trust. But he only winks confidently, wordlessly telling her to just leave things in their natural course.

It has bothered her for the whole weekend; no matter how hard she's been trying to push it to the back of her mind, it has persisted there and it's eating away at her. She was requested before the weekend even got underway to attend a formal dinner with Ferrari's big wigs after the race. And now that she's actually sitting there, all dressed up and styled in a fancy restaurant in Barcelona, her curiosity has just peaked and she can't help but wonder what she's really doing here.

It can't be bad, the place doesn't speak of anything like that. And it must be pretty important, as well, considering that Camilleri himself is here. But her gut feeling tells her regardless of what this is about, it's going to be a lose-lose situation for her.

Finally, halfway through their dinner and after a lot of tiptoeing around the subject, Camilleri refills their glasses with fine wine and dives straight into it, “Ms Riley, you've worked for our team a few years now and I have to admit your professionalism and dedication to your job are truly remarkable. You've been a real asset to our team on multiple occasions.”

Jessica smiles, mostly with modesty but there's also an edge of sarcasm in it. “As much as I appreciate a compliment or two, Mr Camilleri, I don't believe you traveled all the way from Italy just to praise my work.”

Camilleri laughs. “You're right, I didn't.” Before his face sobers up again, “As you know, Ms Riley, we have a plan for the team to reclaim its old glory. We believe Mr Binotto here is the right man to lead and guide it there.”

“I believe so, too” she flashes an encouraging smile at the older man, which has him return it shyly.

The two of them have been cooperating closely only for a few months but they admire each other's work ethic and by now they've formed somewhat of a father-daughter relationship.

Camilleri nods. “But that leaves the position of technical chief vacant.”

“And I believe you're the right one for it” Mattia completes his words, a warm smile on his face, and Jessica looks between the two Italians with wide eyes.

“I don't expect an answer right now” Camilleri continues, making this offer even more tempting than it already was. “Take your time, consider where your priorities lie and we'll wait for you to come back to us when you're ready.”

Surely, this can't be happening. Technical chief has always been her dream and ambition. In fact, she could sign a contract at the spot and not give a damn about the details. But there's still one more thing to discuss.

“Where does Seb lie in all of this?” she asks in a deadpan and something actually stings in her chest when Camilleri scowls.

“It is true that Sebastian Vettel has been a part of Ferrari for a long time now. He even won a championship with us. And I'm aware of your close relationship with him. But he's past his prime now, he's made a lot of mistakes over the last couple of seasons. At this point, he's just a liability.”

She glares at him subtly. “If I'm to take up this role, I want Seb to be a part of the plan you're describing.”

Camilleri, though, shakes his head. “Charles, not Vettel, is the future of our team.”

And despite all of her sharp and witty brain, Jessica falters. She has no words. Apart from the fact that this is so unfair. They're kicking Seb out because of a kid who knows how to do impressive tricks with the car. And she wants to snap this at Camilleri's face so badly...

“Jessica.” Mattia leans towards her, as if reading her thoughts, with his eyebrows raised emphatically and a look on his face that is practically pleading with her not to let him down. “You deserve this.”

She knows she does. She knows she wants it. And she knows that if she says no now, she may never get another chance again. Camilleri has her cornered and he knows it, hence the smirk he's wearing when she lets out a small puff of air.

Could she really do this? Could she move on and leave Seb behind and live with it? Wasn't this a path they were supposed to walk down to together?

She takes a sip of her expensive red wine and as it runs down her throat, everything suddenly clears up and she knows what she wants to do.

Putting her glass down, she lifts her eyes to face Camilleri and his board and she shoots them all a sickeningly sweet smile. “I've made my decision...”

“Why did you say no?”

Sebastian stares at her with wide eyes and his mouth slightly agape as she stomps from her closet to her open suitcase on the floor and back, shoving in her items. He doesn't understand. He tries to grasp her logic, see her reasons but he utterly fails. Technical chief is everything she's been working towards her whole career and now that the opportunity has finally risen, she's tossing it aside for what? For him? For Charles?

Jessica shakes her head at him furiously, grappling at her socks and pushing them into what little space there's still left in her suitcase. “I'm not going to agree to their terms! You may not see it because you're in love with this goddamn team but I do.”

Sebastian furrows his brows. “See what?”

Jessica leans a bit back and sighs. It's not what he needs, question marks in his head about the loyalty of his own team, especially considering the nightmare of a season he's had so far. But if he opens his eyes to what he's against, at least he'll stand a chance to fight it when he inevitably has to confront it.

She straightens up and strides over, stroking his face, and confidently meets his eyes. “We're alone in this, Seb. We're all alone.”

They're practically sharing the same breath and Sebastian knows she'd never lie to him, not like that. Yet...

“We're not” he immediately objects and Jessica's face falls.

“That's what you're telling yourself but Ferrari is no longer the team you built.” She lets go of him and goes back to her suitcase, now full to the brim, and she struggles to pull the zip closed. “They have a new prince to take care of now and if they have to choose between you and him at some point, it's always going to be Charles.”

Sebastian watches her silently, mouth pressed in a thin line. He doesn't want to believe that, things don't have to be this way and reality isn't supposed to be that cruel. But he knows he's only fooling himself, clinging onto forlorn hope and his childhood dream.

Jessica throws her backpack over her shoulder and gently kisses him goodbye. “Meet me in Monaco.”

Then, she opens the door and walks out of it and Sebastian is left standing awkwardly in the middle of a bedroom that isn't even his, feeling empty and an overwhelming urge to cry.

* * *

Louis Camilleri isn't used to being told no. Watching him and Charles as they shake hands and make small talk with guests in the Ferrari hospitality in Monte Carlo, Jessica knows he's still not over the fact that she rejected his offer. An offer most people would give an arm and a leg for.

The Monaco Grand Prix is Charles' home race. Jessica only has to look at him to tell he's determined to do well here. The whole week he's been chanting to the media that he plans to fight tooth and nail for the win. And she's now aware that the team is full-on backing him to do exactly that.

She glares at them as they pose together for a picture, all smiles and joyful. It's a war they've started here, the two of them and their ugly politics, one which she doesn't intend to lose.

Seb is on pole, Charles is second and when Jessica hops on her pitwall stool, all she prays for is a safe and clean race.

They launch off the line together, both fairly excellent and both already on the limit. Charles tries to find room on the inside but the straight is short and the corner that follows a rather tight one. So, he backs off for the moment, hot on Seb's tail, and the two of them slide through the streets of the Principality like one.

They head uphill towards the Casino and Charles is still searching for a way through. Seb is faster, though, and steadily opens up a respectable lead. Charles fumes on the radio and demands a smart strategy.

When he eventually does pit, it's well timed and for a moment it looks like he might undercut his teammate. But the moment Sebastian had been told over the radio that Charles is in the pits, he'd kept his head down and set purple sectors, knowing that the gap isn't enough for him to stop and still emerge on the lead.

Cruising down the pit lane, fresh softs on and concentration the highest it's been for a while, he doesn't catch glimpses of red flashing past. Jessica confirms that Charles has only now taken the final corner and warm relief fills Sebastian's stomach, knowing he has done enough.

Once the wheels hit the tarmac of the track, there's suddenly no grip. With the tyres still far from the ideal temperature, he wrestles with the car, tries to turn in for Saint Devote and eventually turns in too deep. He almost shoots the corner and in the blink of an eye, Charles is all over the back of him, attacking, and attacking hard.

Whatever little lead he had now shaved off completely, Sebastian fiddles with steering wheel buttons and settings as appointed, hoping that the extra horse power will somehow make the other Ferrari vanish from his mirrors. But Charles has better grip, more confidence in the car, and he sticks with him for the rest of the lap.

Out of Portier, Charles gets a better exit. He tucks behind him through the tunnel and Sebastian knows this is where he will attempt to pull his move.

So, he does what every race driver with the correct instinct should do. He defends. And really, he had ran a thousand of scenarios in his head and he thought he had braced himself.

Well, not for this.

His car skids across the track, bouncing over the kerbs in the Nouvelle chicane, the rear wing and suspension gone and hanging off the bodywork in pieces.

The radio cracks with static, “I'm sorry, Seb, I'm so sorry.”

He doesn't reply. He doesn't know what to tell her. He just sits in the car and blinks, not quite grasping that it's over. He was doing so well, had been driving that car with his heart rather than his mind all weekend and what does he take for it? A car torn apart and halted to the side of the track as marshals wave at him to get out and engines screech past him, mocking him.

He switches off everything and frees himself of his belts, easing out of the cockpit. He feels numb and empty and this hollow pit is filled with rage, fierce and boiling and threatening to spill over.

He lifts his gaze and stares across at Charles' car while it's being towed away. There's damage evident in the nose and sidepods, red sparkling under the sun. His teammate is still standing on the spot, gripping tightly onto his gloves, and for the briefest second their eyes meet.

It's hard and cold and screaming of hatred, even with their heads still helmeted and their visors closed, and when Jessica catches sight of it on the screens, she knows there are going to be fireworks.

“You drove into me!”

“You knew I was there!”

“I don't have telepathy, Charles! I can't read your mind to know when you'll decide to use me as a handbrake.”

Jessica sighs, rubbing away the blur from her vision. Whoever said that racing in Monaco is dull clearly hadn't watched this.

They are supposed to be world renowned racers, not a bunch of children arguing over a bucket and a shovel in the playground. And yet she and Mattia had to literally drag them off each other once they reached the pits in order for one or both of them not to be stuck with a black eye during the remainder of this weekend and they've spent the last half an hour or so hollering at each other.

It's a fiasco, a badly set up joke. They're wearing the insignia of the most famous car brand on their chests and they can't even manage a pair of hot headed drivers. Soon, they'll have to join the rest of the world in its incessant spinning again and _this_ is the kind of things journalists make their money with. They'll be demanding answers. And though Jessica has her hunches about how things barreled all the way down to here, the point is neither of the parties involved is willing to raise their hand and admit responsibility for today's incident. In fact, if they don't end up murdering each other, Ferrari should count themselves lucky.

Well.

They had threatened to bring down the walls with their earlier shouting.

It's fine now.

Charles whips around, his eyes wide after a new theory has dawned on him, and he accuses, “You did this on purpose, didn't you? Now, you can go to the press, enamor them with your charms and tell them that I'm not ready for Ferrari.”

Sebastian scoffs, stomping a circle around himself, furious. “Not everything has to be about you, Charles.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Says the guy that practically had the world revolve around him for four straight years.”

Sebastian falters to a stop, folding his arms in his chest and narrowing his eyes at his teammate. “At least, I waited till I got a championship or two before I started walking around pretending to be a Messiah.”

“You really think those championships were yours, Seb?”

Charles has a dangerous glint in his green eyes, the same ones that could glow in pure innocence, big like a lost puppy's. His head is cocked to one side, the corner of his mouth curling upwards into a taunting smirk and a hand is waving off Seb's claim as if trying to dispel it from the atmosphere altogether.

“You'd be a nobody without those cars. And anyway I don't see much worth in a guy that has to sleep with his engineer to ensure his place in the team.”

Sebastian's face twitches with genuine surprise and shock and he snaps before getting grip on his tongue, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Even Jessica's heart is skipping beats in her chest. Her and Seb have been together for a few years now and some people may have their suspicions but they have always been discreet about it. So, how the hell did Charles find out? And considering he has zero qualms to so blatantly throw them both under the bus just to prove a point, then she wonders what lengths would he be willing to cross if bigger things were at stakes.

Charles rolls his eyes. “Do you really want me to spell it out for you, Seb?”

Sebastian doesn't like where this is heading. And being smart, he chooses to steer the argument to a different direction, “I'm not the one with the self confidence issues, Charles. I don't need to wail to people, I don't constantly need to inflate my ego...”

“Sebastian, that's enough!”

He shifts his head slightly to stare at his team principal with a frown between his brows and his lips parted, blinking. As far as he knows, he's not the only one in the room behaving like a five year old.

“The both of you” Mattia adds but it doesn't take away much from his earlier order.

He steps between his drivers, putting a fair bit of distance between them till emotions have cooled off entirely.

“You take each other out, fine. But don't you ever again dare to drag the rest of my people into your mess.”

Jessica resists the urge to tilt an eyebrow. Do they really get to call themselves part of the same team after what happened in Spain? They could never agree to a common agenda, their loyalties lie elsewhere. Mattia has been working towards this position at Ferrari his whole career. For her, the bright crimson of her shirt only stands for Seb's color. But she's not sure word of their offer towards her in Barcelona has gotten around and so she lets Mattia get on with his lecture.

“Deal with this, or don't. I don't care. But next race I want both my cars across the finish line and not a single scratch on them. Now, go apologize to your team and talk to the media and be adults while doing that. Do I make myself clear?”

His drivers portray their understanding stalking off in different directions without even acknowledging each other's existence.

Jessica huffs out a breath. We all love a nice and productive conversation, don't we?

* * *

_“Sebastian, how are things in the team following your collision with Charles last time out?”_

Sebastian stands in the press pen in Canada with his arms folded in his chest, dark sunglasses on and cap pulled down over his ears. He's getting tired of repeating the same words over and over again.

“It's good” he forces a smile at the female journalist. “Obviously, what happened in Monaco is unfortunate but we know it's part of the game. The guys are doing well, they're excited to be racing this weekend.”

_“Since you already accepted fault behind closed doors, would you consider doing it publicly as well?”_

For a moment, Sebastian falters.

“Who told you that?”

There's a small frown between his brows, which promptly deepens when she offers plainly,

_“Charles, earlier this morning.”_

“Well, Charles doesn't know what he's talking about.”

Yes, he has broken now and yes, he has snapped. But Charles apparently doesn't know how racing works.

He ignores Britta's warning tugging at the back of his shirt. He has swallowed down enough from the little brat already. The piss he took in Monaco from his own team still cuts in his chest, and he's done doing that.

“It's true there was a team meeting behind closed doors about what happened in Monaco and it was mutually agreed that it was a racing incident. There were no fingers pointed at someone. If Charles wants to play race control, he may as well do so but he's not above the team, especially this team, and I'm not going to be a part of this.”

He doesn't care if he's feeding the press with catchy headlines and stories to write about. He's done carrying other people's share of responsibility and he's done being everyone's punch bag and he's done playing Charles' little games.

“Was that really necessary?” Sebastian walks into the interview stage right as Charles is putting on his mic and his teammate frowns at him as if he has no clue what he's talking about.

“What thing?”

Sebastian drops into the designated seat and whips off his sunglasses. “The nonsense you've been chanting to the media. That I took blame for our incident in Monaco.”

“Oh, that.” Charles smirks knowingly. “Well, you still owe me an apology and I figured some nudging towards the right direction could do no harm.”

Seb fights back the urge to just land a fist in his jaw and instead pushes himself towards Charles, trying to instill some sense to the kid, “Think what you want of me but in front of the media we're one team. United. No throwing each other under the bus. Those people there don't care about us. They're just bidding their time to shred us both in pieces.”

Charles shrugs a shoulder, uncaring. “Deal with it.”

Whatever response Seb was going to bark, is cut off as Will Buxton walks towards them, shaking their hands and looking thrilled about getting to be their host.

Immediately, the conversation heads to their infamous collision in Monte Carlo.

_“There has been a lot of talking and analyzing over the week regarding you guys coming together during the last race. Can you share with us your point of view from inside the cockpit?”_

Sebastian exhales a small sigh, wishing he could be somewhere else, talking about something else. “Entering the tunnel, I knew that Charles would try something, so I defended. Next thing I knew, the rear wing and suspension were gone and I had to park the car.”

_“Charles?”_

His teammate purses his lips, as if it's no big deal. “I saw a gap, I went for it. Unfortunately, it didn't work out very well but that's racing sometimes.”

_“Have you reached a consensus yet on who's to blame?”_

“To me, it's quite clear” Charles smiles angelically. “But I'm sure Seb will never agree.”

Sebastian forces a very tight smile. “Obviously, we'll agree to disagree.”

From then onwards, questions revolve around their physical training and other useless stuff the fans want to know. More than a few times, they have to grin and act like they're best pals again. Sebastian hates it all so much. Who are they kidding, really? As if this hasn't already escalated into a cold war, a ruthless battle till only one of them is standing. He's tired of fighting Charles.

Standing next to his parked Ferrari on Sunday afternoon after his engine gave way mid way through the race, it's almost a relief. Now he can go home, disconnect from the world and not have to fight anymore for the next two weeks.

* * *

France is an equal race again and watching as Charles and Seb practically exchange carbon fibre out on track over fourth _freaking_ place, a small part of Jessica wishes it wasn't. Seb is on the back foot this time, having qualified fifth while his teammate was third but he dropped a place after the pit stops and now Seb is closing in on him rapid fire quickly.

Jessica winces along with the rest of the pit wall as the two Ferraris attempt to squeeze through a particularly tight corner together. How none of the ends up with a puncture is a pure wonder. Those guys are going to give her a heart attack one day and Charles' engineer, too, considering how he's frantically trying to get his driver to calm down.

Someone touches her shoulder. “Tell him to hold position” Mattia requests and Jessica's eyes blow wide like saucers.

It's an unspoken agreement in the team that they had to implement after the disaster that was Monaco that whoever is behind on Saturday remains behind on Sunday. And while she would begrudgingly admit that some kind of hierarchy, defective as it may be, is better than no hierarchy at all, there's no way she will willingly consent to reducing Seb to someone's wingman. He has, also, retired from the last two races, he could really use those extra couple of points.

“No.”

Her downright, strong refusal has all sets of eyes in the pit wall drawn to her, including her boss', who raises an eyebrow in question.

She schools her face as much as she can and shrugs a shoulder in casual style. “He's quicker, has been so since China. So, for once, let him prove it.”

Mattia's well plastered poker face falters a little and he's now staring at her. She just hopes he's not able to hear her heart as it hammers in her chest.

“I don't remember pure speed being a factor in Monaco” Nicolas quips, clearly still bitter about how that race turned out and also clearly still holding enough power over the team to influence decisions.

Someone calls Mattia's name because the two Ferraris are banging wheels again. Jessica watches hesitation and indecision play across his features for a moment before he whips towards her and nods.

“Fine. He has a chance. But if he blows it, there will be no more.”

She'll take that.

“Okay, Seb. Clean, smooth racing is what we got.”

He never answers her but she's pretty sure he has received the message. If he was pushing to overtake his teammate before, he's now giving it his all and then some. Jessica just prays everything goes according to plan.

The rest of the world fades and she's practically watching with bated breath as Seb tucks behind the other Ferrari on the straight. Charles attempts to block him but Seb is smarter than that. He changes his line, going all the way around the outside and no matter how hard Charles defends, it's of no point now. Seb flies past and with clean air ahead immediately sets about building a gap. 

Jessica exhales her breath, relief flooding through every inch of her body.

So, she's fighting Seb's battles outside the track and behind the scenes. She's one of his few allies in the team to still be standing and without a doubt the only one willing to put things on the line for his sake if need be.

It has its perks. Like Domenico who's practically begging her from his knees to sign an autograph for him as they walk together into the Spielberg paddock. It brings a smile on her lips, even as she feels all eyes on her.

There have been fancy titles in the media those past two weeks since Paul Ricard about the woman who had the guts to go against Ferrari, who has been acting like Sebastian Vettel's guardian angel lately... As a matter of fact, no. They've been there since Monaco, after rumors surfaced that she was offered and she rejected the role of technical chief in the Scuderia and well, what happened during the race only fueled those rumors more.

Her smile wavers a little.

Mostly, she's making enemies. And by the time they get to Austria, it's all becoming too much to shoulder alone.

She's sitting in the Ferrari cafeteria with Stefano after the race and in all honesty, she recalls few occasions that she has felt more worn out in every existing meaning of the word. The Ferraris had been fighting on track again and although Seb ultimately rose victorious out of their battle to snatch that final podium spot, it cost Charles a fair chuck of his front wing and earned her a full-on rant from Mattia about not following orders. _Again._

He doesn't see her reasons. It would be so easy to just plaster a neutral face and ask Seb to back off. But she can't let him down. Not yet again this year.

Stefano is looking at her with an intense stare, worry and concern clearly flickering into it.

“What are you doing, Jess?” he asks, not accusing but pleading with her not to do anything stupid.

Jessica lets out a puff of air, her eyes fixed on the window at her left and following the motion of the people walking past the motor home outside. Some are bantering cheerfully in groups, others are posing for pictures and if they're lucky, some might even run into their idols. If only life could be so simple right now.

Instead, she shrugs a shoulder, her jaw shaking, and answers quite frankly, “I don't know.”

She's sticking by Seb. But the rest is not her call to make.

At least, Silverstone is a quiet race. Seb decides to take a flyer with his strategy and his impromptu planning is rewarded with an unexpected second place. Meanwhile, Charles is a distant fourth and with Red Bull's inner team dispute of some sort, the media doesn't dig at Ferrari's current state of slow burn.

Things are rolling behind the scenes, however, and having practically cooped herself in Maranello now that next year's design is starting to take flesh and blood, Jessica is sorely aware of the situation within the team. Charles' management is picking their allies, ensuring that he will receive support if need be. It's a smart tactic with regard to the future because Charles has time on his side and he will need people to back him up when it comes to it. But at the moment it's only disrupting the team's harmony. Ferrari are shifting their focus away from Seb, they're investing _everything_ in Charles' success and Jessica simply doesn't like it.

When Charles' eyes land on her after the race in Budapest and refuse to flick past, she knows what the question is going to be.

“No, Charles.” She shuts down any possible offer before he even says a word. “Whatever it is you want, no.”

The two of them hardly ever talk and he's currently glaring a hole through Seb's third place trophy that she's been trusted with till he's done with media so there is no way this doesn't have something to do with racing.

Charles is a hard man to backpedal, though. “You could trade sides, you know?”

She quirks an eyebrow. “Do I look like I want to trade sides?”

No, instead she had hugged Seb the moment he jumped out of the car and smiled throughout the podium. This time it wasn't lady luck blinking, it was bloody earned. And it might only be a third place when Lewis already has his fingers splayed over that championship trophy but under those circumstances it means a lot.

Charles moves to secure a grip on her elbow. “We both know whose corner the team is going to fight when things hit the fan. You could be technical chief, Jessica. And I know you already said no to Camilleri himself but this is your chance.”

Jessica jerks her arm away and shoots him a glare. “You obviously don't know me at all if you have to ask me that.” When Charles shrugs and goes to object something, she hastily adds, “Seb is important to me, okay? You may think of us what you will but he's my safe haven. When my head gets too loud for my own good, he's the one to calm down the voices. He has saved me from myself. I'd hang the moon and the stars for him if I could. But I can't and all I have to repay him is that stupid red car. So, don't come here and ask me to write him off because I really can't.”

Charles clenches his jaw and portrays his understanding with a solemn nod. And the second she sees that glint in his eyes, sharp and piercing, she knows. She's going to have a target on her back from now onwards and frankly, she could care less.

She throws herself to work even harder during the summer break, even though she's supposed to be tanning somewhere in an exotic beach. She pours over data with Seb after heated declarations of love, tangled in bed sheets and with the morning sun filtering through the thick curtains. Every little detail needs to be perfect when they head back to racing in order for them to pose a threat to the men in the top of the food chain. Fun and mirth can wait. War trumps fun and mirth.

* * *

Jessica folds her hands behind her head and sighs, watching this farce of a race unfurl.

From qualifying already, it was evident the Ferraris would come to blows again. The two of them had scored side by side grid slots and in their respective interviews had been very clear that they'd race for themselves.

But this... It's only the first lap of the race and they already have banged wheels more times than she can count. Neither is willing to provide an inch more than the absolutely necessary and they're now nearing the dangerous end of the spectrum. Should this trend go on, wiping each other out of this race seems like the most possible scenario and honestly the best word she can think of to describe this is _great_. Mercedes is running away into the distance with both titles and the most Ferrari can hope for the Belgian Grand Prix is bring both cars home in one piece.

Just _freaking_ great.

“Tell him to back off!” Charles yells over the radio as the two Ferraris shoot up towards Raidillion practically side by side.

Mattia turns to her and Jessica silences him with a glare before he even has the chance to utter a word. “You want to give him an order to back off, you do it yourself.”

She's not going to be a part of this, their effort to wrap up their golden boy in cotton wool and protect him from the world or, in this case, hard racing. They're tossing Seb to the sidelines, effectively making him a second driver for Charles after everything he has given to this team. He deserves so much better than this.

They can bypass her, of course, and do whatever they like. Hearing Mattia demand from Seb to not fight his teammate causes her fists to clench tightly. The earlier moral satisfaction that she's not advertently assisting Charles in any way washes away and in its place there's only anger left to bubble up.

Sebastian is flat out down Kemmel straight and in the middle of an attempt to overtake Charles. For a moment, it looks like he might not listen as his continues to seek a way to dive down the inside, his teammate all the while squeezing him on the outside and towards the grass.

And then he slows down.

Jessica blinks at the screens in front of her in disbelief and it takes her a second before it hits her that the goddamn order isn't the reason for this.

Sebastian's voice comes on the radio, frustrated and justly livid, “Puncture! Rear left! Honestly, what is this guy doing? Is he happy now?”

All Jessica can do is plead with him to calm down and exhale a large puff of air. Great is an understatement.

* * *

It's Monza up next and Sebastian has always loved Monza. The place has such a unique vibe into it but since joining Ferrari he has even more reasons to look forward to racing there.

He's signing autographs in the fan zone on Thursday morning and the amount of people crowding behind the rails chanting his name on top of their lungs before passing him their merchandise has him smile. You just don't get that kind of support anywhere else in the world.

“How was your flight?”

Someone falls into step next to him and when Sebastian looks up he finds dark expensive sunglasses and a tense jaw. The fans' rhythmic singing switches to a different name. _Charles._

Sebastian shrugs a shoulder, grasping the offered marker. “The food didn't kill me.” He scribbles his signature on the cap, his hand pressing down on the ink a little harder than necessary. “So, you've raised your veto.”

Charles smiles through gritted teeth, not once looking at him and instead waves at the adoring crowd. “Don't be flattered. We haven't buried the hatchet yet. I'm just being nice here for the team's sake.”

“Because you have such a big heart” Sebastian comments sarcastically and goes to move on to the next person, putting space between them.

But Charles yanks his elbow. “Monza is important” he stares at him pointedly. “Don't play hero like in Spa.”

Sebastian shoots him a glare and jerks his arm free. “I'll race you, Charles. That's all I can promise.”

Charles presses his lips together and nods. If he has something to say, he saves it for Sunday.

Pole goes to Charles and though Sebastian has a few pretty things to say about his teammate's qualifying tactics, he swallows them down. The press pen is not where the two of them get to settle their differences.

He pours over the data that night, watches replays of his onboards, making sure that he's prepared for the race, that it won't slip through his fingers. And at the grid the next afternoon, there's none of his usual pre race banter with Antti or his engineers. There's only sheer determination and focus, eyes zoomed in on that first place trophy. Sucking on his earplugs, he glares at Leclerc's sister Ferrari that is parked on pole, a swarm of engineers working on it and the prominent faces of the team circled around it. Even Mattia is there, a hand clasping Charles' shoulder and the tone of their conversation seeming fatherly.

He recalls Jessica's words from Spain. _They have a new prince to take care of now_ and right now, it might as well be the stark reality. But he can prove them all wrong, he can be Ferrari's prince again and when his eyes meet with Charles' just before he jumps into the cockpit, he promises to not give up without a fight.

The second the lights go out, however, all the confidence he had in the car is gone, the rear feeling unstable and oversteering as hell, and he plummets down the order. He wrestles with the car, trying to find a bit of himself and his preferred driving style in there, and even asks Jessica for alternative settings. It's to no avail. He just continues to lose ground whereas Charles gains on him and the rest of the field. He suppresses his emotions, tries to remain calm and poised, hoping beyond hope that he somehow manages to turn this disaster around.

When he spins through the Ascari chicane, he knows. This is it. The Italian Grand Prix has slipped past him.

For the remainder of the race, his brain switches off. His thoughts go blank. His eyes prickle with building tears, despite Jessica's placating voice on the radio telling him it's still a long way to go and to fight for those points. He doesn't want to. The nearer they draw to the checkered flag, the strongest the temptation grows to just park the car somewhere and climb out. The only reason he presses his foot on the throttle and keeps going is because the cockpit is his shelter right now. The voices of the world, cold and accusing, are shut out and he only has to worry about his own thoughts suffocating him.

In parc ferme, he gets rid of the safety equipment with slow movements. The world feels way too bright right now and he doesn't want to face it. And when he indeed catches glimpses of tricolor flags and red smoke, he spins on his heel and stalks away, not bothering with congratulating anyone.

He heads straightaway to do media with Britta. He wants to get out of here as soon as possible. His throat feels clamped during his interviews and more than a few times, his lower lip juts out or his voice trembles. He practically has to force himself to go through questions. Even journalists seem to take pity on him or so is his impression.

Leaving the circuit proves to be a real challenge. He has to tip toe around people that have the victory high buzz in their bones. He has to put on a brave face for Stefano, Domenico and a couple of other guys that pat his shoulder, trying to be a source of comfort. Mattia tries to drag him along to celebrations he doesn't want to be a part of and Sebastian has to smile and politely shoot down the invitation.

Ferrari have their new prince crowned today. How can Sebastian compare with something like this? So, he won't. He'll spare himself the agony of it and stop clinging onto dreams and empty hope. Dreams do fall apart, after all.

He drives off that evening feeling hollow and tired and with tears blurring his vision. If breaking him was what Charles wanted, well, he can consider himself successful.

Jessica is so done with everything.

Mattia wants her to stick around for team photos and celebrations but she can't find it in herself to care about their victory. She shakes Charles' hand and offers her congratulations with a set jaw and eyes that are devoid of any emotion and that's basically all about it. She won't join them in their fanfare. She's not happy with how the race turned out and she can't be bothered to pretend that she is. She's never been a people pleaser and she won't stoop that low now. She has places to be, anyway.

In Seb's pitch black hotel room, she silently sighs over the top of his head, her chest hurting for him as he cries his heart out. She thought the tears would have ceased by now but no, his body is still quivering with sobs. She wishes she could fix this, fix him. But this whole thing is so much bigger than them. All she can do is rub his back in a soothing manner and hold him while he breaks apart.

How can they still be deemed one team, anyway? She'll give Domenico and Stefano the benefit of the doubt; at least, they did squeeze out a couple of moments to be there for Seb and say something nice. But the rest of the Italian jerks are out there drinking champagne in the name of their golden boy and their earlier home win, not one bit caring that same win has blown up their other driver's heart. Maybe Mattia will try to look sympathetic and say a nice word or two about him to the press but how is that an act of kindness? They'll be hitting him harder the very next weekend and he won't bother to do so again. None of them will.

Instinctively, her arms wrap around Seb a little tighter. She has to protect him from this, has to fight the world with him and for him and maintain his heartfelt smile and the beauty of his soul intact through this. And she has to do so at all costs.

A sharp intake of breath against her collarbone has her snap out of her daze and back to reality. She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn't even realize Seb's tears have stopped. He probably doesn't have any left.

“Hey.” She leans a bit back and smiles at him warmly, her thumps swiping circles in his cheeks to dry the wetness. “Here's my champ.”

Sebastian, though, doesn't smile back. He only sniffles, scrunches up his face and shakes his head. “I'm not a champ. I'm barely a driver anymore.”

It's painful to watch and hard to stay put but Jessica knows she has to be strong for him now.

“Alright, Mr Vettel, stop right there. Barely a driver anymore? And then who's that guy that overcame injuries and heartache and odds to be crowned champion, huh? What happened to that guy?”

Sebastian hangs his head, clearly having resigned to his fate. “I don't know, Jess” he tells her honestly. “Maybe he just lost his edge. Or maybe he never had any to begin with.”

And now he's crawling back to being pitiful.

Jessica presses his chin upwards with a finger, wanting to look at his eyes while she says this, “I don't see a man unworthy of his success when I look at you. I see someone who is going through a difficult stage at this part of his career and he's trying too hard not to let people down and in the process he also lost a bit of himself.” She pauses, eyes trailing over his beloved face, a hand tangled in his hair, and she smiles at him. “You can't always make everyone happy. You just need to make the most out of what you have. Sometimes you're going to mess up and climb out of the car screaming how much you hate this but so what? You'll be better next time, stronger. And in your heart you still know what you're made of.”

“You were right about Charles” he tells her instead. “The team... They care about Charles now.”

It had required a lot to voice this out loud and with the words now in the air his chest clenches and hurts.

Jessica, though, just shrugs a shoulder. “So? We'll prove them all wrong.”

Her tone is so light and carefree as if all it would take to do is click their fingers and _boom!_ Sebastian can't help the smile that creeps up at the corners of his mouth. Surely, she must be the best thing to ever happen to him.

He tucks himself into her side, sighing, “I love you, Jess.”

Jessica's response as she kisses his hairline brings fresh tears to his eyes, “I love you, too, champ.”

* * *

She was expecting Monza to leave a bruise, at least for a little while. But in Singapore, staring across at Seb as reporters keep shoving microphones in his face, trying to fish out something juicy, she has to bite back the urge to roll her eyes or quirk a brow.

He was sobbing in her arms two weeks ago and now he's doing what, laughing it off with British media? All sunny and bright, teasing lighthearted and jibes coming and going from both sides. The same witty smirk is resting on his lips, the same animated talking about everything and nothing in particular is going on when he returns in the garage.

But Jessica knows better than that. She has been by Sebastian's side through his best and absolute worst and her eyes are therefore trained enough to be able spot even the tiniest shifts in his demeanor.

He's not back to square one after Monza, not yet. It still hurts quite a lot and she can tell so because his jaw immediately tightens and his smile wavers when Charles reaches for his hand and he's forced to offer his congratulations again. But they sneak in Seb's room to have dinner together that evening and Jessica's breath catches a little in her throat as soon as she meets his gaze. He has come here determined to redeem himself, if he needs to do this. His eyes are sparkling with a sharp glint and Jessica knows that victory is the only thing he's targeting this weekend.

He's quicker in all three practice sessions.

Charles rips off his balaclava the second he emerges from the car at the end of FP3, green eyes darkened and practically two matching balls of fire. He shoots daggers at his teammate's back at the other side. He doesn't know what he's missing and he's annoyed at the very least.

Jessica wants to laugh on his face. The guy is coming fresh from a Ferrari victory on home soil, of course he's the hero nowadays. But nursing the car across the finish line is the easy part. With the right car, every driver can do it. To have your heart crushed by the sport you love, though, and still be able to stand back onto your own two feet without tripping over... That's remarkable and a virtue only true champions possess.

With qualifying hanging just above them, Seb is the clear favorite and it feels so sweet to see all purple on his times after the initial two segments. When it matters, however, it all shatters in pieces.

Sebastian's final flying lap is compromised by traffic and so, he'll have to settle with second. And because lady luck wants to play even crueler tricks on him, pole has gone to Charles. He's singing on the radio and Jessica holds her head in her hands, staring at the screen in front of her without blinking in disbelief. She wants to punch it so hard right now.

Sebastian's smile doesn't reach his eyes during post qualifying photos and interviews. He seems on edge and even snaps a couple of his responses. And as soon as he's back in the garage, his helmet is slammed against a wall. Hard.

Frankly, she understands his frustration. If she was in his shoes, she'd probably have done worse, considering she's the emotional one out of the two of them. She immediately rushes to his side, winds an arm around his shoulders and promises they'll beat Leclerc tomorrow.

On the grid on Sunday, they go over last minute preparation together, heads bowed close to each other and Antti near them, listening carefully with his brow creased. Whatever little dispute she used to have with the Finnish man belongs to the past now. He's proven in many occasions to be a worthy ally and an important asset to Seb's team. They're going to need every little help they can get in order to outdo Leclerc in the end of the year.

She pats the top of his helmet when team members are told to clear the grid. Antti squeezes his hand, both encouraging him to drive his heart out there. Seb's eyes are already fixed on the red lights.

His start is decent but the track is way too narrow to attempt to overtake. Plus, Charles is cleverly covering up what little space is available. So, there's not much Sebastian can do for the time being other than stay with his teammate and stay close enough if an opportunity arises.

Things change after the pit stops. Sebastian puts in an outstanding outlap and emerges ahead of his teammate. Jessica's eyes brighten up in a heartbeat. Things didn't look all good and glorious before but now they certainly stand a chance.

When Charles starts bemoaning on the radio that he can go faster and is losing time behind Seb, her gaze immediately flickers to Mattia, hard and stubborn. They can't give up on him. Not now, not today. Not when he deserves the world and then some. A victory is the least they can let him have.

As if knowing what she's thinking, Mattia shakes his head, lips curling slightly upwards in a smile. Her heart calms down and weakly, she returns the gesture.

From then onwards, she's quite sure they can't lose. There are people crashing up and down the field, safety cars and pretty much everything that can happen in a car race. But Seb knows this track like the back of his hand and no matter what Charles does to cut down on the gap between them, Seb is always able to squeeze out a small lead again. Perhaps this is the race where it all comes good...

Antti is standing next to her in the pit wall, chewing on his nails during the final laps. Domenico is leaning towards her, a hand on her shoulder as she anxiously passes data to Seb, making sure this car will crawl to the finish line. And as soon as Seb takes the checkered flag to win in spectacular fashion in Singapore, the three of them along with Stefano become a jumping-up-and-down little bundle of joy, all beaming and laughing. A stark contrast to the mild smiles coming from Charles' side of the garage.

Jessica adjusts her headphones as Seb makes a point of congratulating the team in Italian and she returns to her screens a little breathlessly. “You did amazing, Seb. Well done, I'm proud of you. My tiny little star.”

She probably shouldn't be saying stuff like this in public but what the hell; they've just won a Grand Prix after months of waiting.

Sebastian is pumping his fists in the air in parc ferme, showing off his steering wheel, and Jessica carefully weaves her way through the crowds to go pick up the team's trophy with tears blurring her vision. She's pulled into a hug the second he spies her and she laughs in his arms, giddy with happiness.

Cameras are still filming and the only congratulations Charles offers is a mere handshake, a scowl on his face that stays there for the rest of the evening. But right now she could care less about all of this. Tonight, Sebastian Vettel is a winner and she won't allow to anything or anyone to take away the shine of it. 

She soaks him up in champagne and puts on her widest grin for the photos. And as soon as cameras are out of sight and it's just the two of them with the lights half dimmed in Sebastian's motor home, she draws him in for a long kiss. It's fierce and passionate and tasting of champagne and a promise to still be there when the buzz of it dies down and inevitably they have to confront their own team yet again.

* * *

Sebastian sweeps his pass on the paddock gates in Sochi feeling light and content. Victory is still humming underneath his skin and going into this weekend, his confidence is high that the car didn't lose its pace overnight and they can repeat the achievement here.

 _Easy, Seb._ He can practically hear Jessica's voice in his head. _No expectations, no disappointment._ But he's a racer...

Someone calls his name from behind and Sebastian shifts his weight to one leg to half turn around and peek over his shoulder. His team principal is there jogging up to him, and Sebastian cracks a smile.

“Mattia, hi.” His boss isn't exactly his favorite person to deal with this early in the morning but at least he can be polite. “How are you?”

“Good. And you?”

They make small talk about their families for a while as they weave through people in the paddock and towards the Ferrari hospitality. And when Sebastian spies his teammate loitering in the stairs and that very same moment Mattia goes rigid beside him and rubs his temple, he knows it's no coincidence.

“Look, Sebastian...”

Apparently, it's an awkward task for Mattia since he's fumbling for words, and Sebastian tilts an eyebrow.

Mattia exhales his breath in a hiss and finally looks him in the eye. “Charles believes he should take some credit for your win in Singapore. Because he willingly gave up first position and didn't risk anything.”

_Oh..._

Sebastian's other eyebrow joins its sibling up on his forehead.

“He'd like, _we'd_ like you, if the occasion arises this weekend, to repay the favor.”

Sebastian clenches his jaw. “You want me to play second fiddle to him.”

He may act like he doesn't see certain things from time to time but he's not stupid. He can connect the dots and hiding behind words, contract clauses and shady agreements really serves no cause.

“I want you to aid the team” Mattia corrects and Sebastian resists the urge to laugh in his face.

If anyone is under the belief that he and Charles give a damn about the team whenever they exchange carbon fibre on track or throw each other under the bus in the press pen, then they are a fool. Whatever it is he shares with Charles, it's not about the team and hasn't been for a long while.

He tells Mattia he will do what will seem like the smartest choice on Sunday. By his stony cold eyes and tight jaw as he nods begrudgingly, he can tell that his boss isn't happy with this. That he was expecting more. Him to be a team player and all this nonsense.

Sebastian could actually care less.

He avoids Charles like the plague for the rest of the weekend. He doesn't want to be looked in the eye without a single shred of shame and be told by his own teammate that he's done. And truth be told, he doesn't trust himself at the moment not to snap something equally stupid in response. So, he mostly sticks with Antti and Jessica and the few times Charles attempts to gravitate over and start a conversation, he politely excuses himself and skips off.

But there's only so much avoiding you can do during a Grand Prix weekend.

“No.” Sebastian's voice is steady, not leaving room for arguments and scenarios of ifs and maybes.

Charles groans next to him. “Come on, Seb. I'm your freaking teammate!”

They're signing autographs for grid kids just before they head out for the drivers' parade, hissing at each other in Italian. As if people don't speak Italian here and Daniel isn't giving them weird stares. Sebastian nods towards him and jogs up a little ahead in a vain attempt to not draw excess attention on them.

“Just because you're my teammate doesn't mean I owe you anything” he quietly shoots back at Charles, who once again latches himself onto his side.

“Look, you help me and I'll help you, yes? If I win today, then Lewis can't win, too. You can reduce his lead.”

Sebastian pauses in the middle of scribbling his name on an orange Red Bull cap, and slowly turns to glare at his teammate. “If you think my fight is with Lewis, Charles, then you're gravely mistaken.”

And spinning on his heel, he slips behind a pair of dark sunglasses and dives outside, waving at the packed grandstands. If Charles has a response, he bites it back and sensibly keeps his distance.

On the grid, Sebastian stands to the side of the track with Jessica and Antti, glaring at Charles' Ferrari that is parked on pole. He's second and currently going through race strategy with Jessica. A strategy that will hopefully give him an edge over his teammate and a shot in being a contender for the win.

And though he had caught glimpses of it here and there, had struck back against it in Singapore, this is also the first time he fully understands what Jessica meant in Barcelona. _They have a new prince to take care of now_... Hell, if it's not out for the world to see today...

Charles looks irritated, probably with his refusal to help him in any way, as he paces around his car in circles. But he's surrounded by a swarm of engineers that are tinkering with things in the Ferrari and Mattia's hand is on his shoulder, assuring that he's still in control of this race. They're building the team around Charles, turning Sebastian into a spare part. At least, that explains the dull handshakes he's been getting lately.

Sebastian pulls his balaclava over his face. Then, let's race. Burn their differences on the asphalt and establish each other's status there. Isn't this how racing works, anyway? Each man for himself? He doesn't owe Charles a thing and if he thinks politics and mind games are the easy way to his head, then he's in for a huge disappointment.

The moment the lights go out, Sebastian turns on the attack mode. He tries to squeeze the nose of his Ferrari down Charles' inside as they navigate through turn one, a long sweeping right hander, practically side by side. There's not much space for him there, however, and his teammate is defending well.

By the second corner, another right hander, he's at Charles' tail. He is faster, he has the slipstream and no matter what his teammate does, it's all going to be futile. Sebastian pulls up on the inside and nails the move.

From then onwards, it's all about building a gap, maintaining that gap and extracting the absolute maximum out of the car. He's told a few times over the radio to let Charles through. But he ignores that and instead sets about setting fastest lap after fastest lap so that, when he wins, nobody can question whether he deserved to.

He winds up behind Charles after the pit stops but he feels good, confident. The car is quick and responding exactly the way he likes and the gap isn't even that big to begin with.

Then, something snaps. Everything shuts down and the only thing he can do is make sure that the car is parked safely to the side.

He's cemented into the cockpit, dragging in rapid breaths to reign in his fury. Jessica's words of apology are ringing in his ears, the race is slipping past him and disbelief failing to sink in, filling him up to the brim. This can't be happening. _Again._

Frustration taking the better of him, he literally jumps out of the car. And immediately he regrets it as the thin sole of his racing shoes causes his head to pound. But he can't find it in himself to care about the dizziness right now.

He stomps back into the paddock with his helmet still on, visor closed and his gloves gripped so tightly in his fists that his knuckles have turned white. And the moment he's alone in his motor home, he slams his helmet against the nearest wall and screams.

* * *

What happens in Sochi is a hard pill to swallow. But Japan is a clean slate and Sebastian is determined to bring home a good result here.

Suzuka is his first pole since forever and he celebrates it giddy like a child. He sings down the radio and when he enters parc ferme, Jessica is already there, waiting to pull him in her arms and kiss his temple congratulations. He shakes a few hands other than hers and then poses for pictures with the biggest smile he can muster.

His moods are so elated and yet all it takes is a few questions in the press conference for it to be done in and a scowl to return between his brows.

_“Sebastian and Charles, do you reckon there's going to be drama in the first corner tomorrow?”_

Charles is fidgeting next to him, squirming in his seat and constantly fiddling with something. So, clearly not happy with his second place.

“I'm happy for the team” his teammate forces a smile, straightening a bit, and Sebastian doesn't fail to notice how he doesn't say _I'm happy for Seb_. “We've been fast this weekend so far and that's always a good thing. However, I'm not going to lie. I'm willing to risk a few things if it comes to this.”

His eyes are dark as he speaks, screaming of danger and threat. Sebastian doesn't fear him. He has never feared anyone. It's impossible to jump into the cockpit, close the visor and race if you feel fear. Especially for your competitors.

He finds it extremely difficult, though, to keep on a neutral facade, grin and bear it as Charles' answer causes all eyes in the room to light up. Reporters want drama and right now Charles is giving them drama. Sebastian can't help but groan, much more audibly than he would have liked to.

_“Sebastian, your thoughts?”_

“Well, I want to win here” he admits with eyes and a smile far more honest than Charles'. “I love this track, I feel confident in the car. Let's hope for a little bit of luck and then I believe it won't be necessary to take any risks.”

If he remarks how Charles' fists clench under the table while he offers his view, Sebastian chooses to pay no mind to it.

The pendulum has swung around.

It's not a victory in Japan courtesy of a slow start, which Sebastian is absolutely seeing red about. Then, Jessica cups the back of his neck with one hand, red polished nails scraping at the short hair gently, and asserts that it was a good race and Sebastian seems to somewhat let go of it. He enjoys the podium. Champagne does taste sweeter, after all, even from second when radio transmission lets you know that your main competitor crashed out on the first lap.

The Ferraris are not tailor made for the Circuit of the Americas but Sebastian manages to drag that car across the finish line in third. On the podium, he sprays champagne on Lewis as he triumphs another championship win, laughing with him. The two of them are still far from being best friends but the bad blood they used to share once upon a time has certainly lessened now that they are no longer fighting over the same things. Charles is sixth after lacking pace the whole weekend and forced to grasp his hand as they queue in behind each other to get weighed. Well dones and similar stuff are practically gritted out of his teeth and Sebastian fails to suppress a smirk.

He places another trophy in Jessica's hands when he climbs down from the podium in Mexico and as a reward she kisses his cheek. Meanwhile, Charles is left to wander through the press pen with his shoulders hunched and his cap pulled as low as possible as for the umpteenth time he explains that his retirement was due to a gearbox failure. And really, Sebastian should be sorry for him. But sooner or later it was bound to dawn on him that the road towards success is no bed of roses.

By the time they get to Brazil, there's different chatter up and down the paddock. Sebastian Vettel is redeeming himself, fighting his way against everything and everyone, his own team included, and coming out on top out of this all. Which is a bit funny, if he's completely honest.

Sebastian doesn't need the media to remind him what he's made of. He's had close to one and a half decade of Grand Prix racing, he has certainly faced worse but he has managed to survive. He plans to do so in the future, too. If anything, it's easier to stand on his two feet again after a setback those days. Jessica is by his side, solid like a rock and pulling him through the storm. Still, he can't help but feel a little smug about it all.

“How does it feel, Charles?”

They're signing merchandise together and the total lack of emotion in Seb's voice has Charles question whether there's any point at all in replying. Then, he purses his lips and hastily signs the front of a shirt. “Depends on what you're talking about.”

“You know damn well what I'm talking about.” Sebastian's upper lip curls up, his eyes never leaving the stack of Ferrari items he has to sign. “The press has been asking, haven't they?”

Charles offers no verbal response but the way his fingers press down a little tighter on the indelible marker is enough proof that this hit a nerve.

Sebastian can't suppress the smirk from spreading on his face. “You're getting outdone, Charles. You're the hunted here, not the hunter. And if you make a mistake or trip over your feet, they'll be there to watch. And, trust me, no one's going to haul you up.”

For a hot second, Charles thinks Sebastian is rubbing in his recent success, messing with his head. But his eyes twinkle with well covered pain. So, he's speaking from personal experience. He wants him to have a taste of his own medicine.

He refuses to feel sympathy for the man that is currently standing between him and his biggest dream. Instead, he grabs a bright red cap and scrawls his name on it, the extra pressure he applies on the marker turning it into a bit of a squiggle.

“That's a nice speech, Seb, but out of the two of us I'm the one leading the standings. And I don't intend to lose that lead here.”

Ignoring the silent scoff from Seb's side, he dumps the marker on a table and stalks off, seeing red and aware of the tension that has been mounting around them this weekend.

The race goes badly. _Very_ badly. In fact, it could've hardly gone worse.

Sebastian drops his helmet on his feet and glares at the damage on his Ferrari as marshals wave at him to jump behind the barriers. He sees Charles a few feet away rid himself of all the equipment with an unreadable expression on his face. Sebastian spins on his heel and turns around.

It's a racing incident as far as he's concerned. Charles tried to squeeze him on the outside and Sebastian instinctively squeezed him on the inside. Since neither would back off, the collision was inevitable. They both picked up punctures and other significant damage, making it impossible for either of them to continue. So, yes, once again the Ferraris have wiped each other out of a race.

Sebastian stands to the side of the track and rubs his hands over his face. The world is a quiet and safe spot here, nothing like the storm he'll have to deal with once he's back in the paddock.

Of course he's angry (angry is an understatement actually, seeing nothing but red would be a more accurate description of his current state) but surprisingly he's calm. He knows what is coming and he perfectly well knows how to stand up for himself. This has become his routine now.

But if they try to throw all responsibility on him, Sebastian will snap. He won't take any of that today, not when Charles wanted this to be a matter of honor and any slim hope he had to still be a contender for third place in the championship in Abu Dhabi is now hanging on a thin thread. Fighting back is not a crime, after all, and if Charles claims he didn't know he was there, Sebastian won't believe him. They have goddamn mirrors for a reason.

His path crosses with Charles' as they return to the team motor home and their respective rooms. No words are uttered, only a sharp look is passed between them, and once they've changed out of their race suits, they stomp in different directions towards the press pen.

_“Sebastian, Charles said you were far too aggressive while defending. Do you agree with his perspective?”_

He smirks. “Charles clearly hasn't learnt a thing about aggressiveness since Monaco.”

_“Charles, do you think Sebastian maybe could have done this as payback for Monaco?”_

Charles shrugs a shoulder. “At this stage, I wouldn't be surprised if it were. Also, he can never accept it when someone is faster than him so it might be something as simple as that.”

They get their full on dressing down from Mattia that these are not things to be said about each other in public. Sebastian doesn't get why it's so important. At the end of the day, they're back at square one. No apology and giving each other the cold shoulder.

Sebastian is fine with that. All that matters at the moment, anyway, is to beat Leclerc and they don't need to be on friendly terms for him to do that.

* * *

Abu Dhabi is usually all about fanfare. All positions have been decided, not to mention championships, and effectively it's the only weekend of the season when one can take a step back from it all and just enjoy racing.

It's not the case this year. With only ten points between him and Charles the duel for third place in the final standings is very much on and reporters are loving it.

On Thursday morning in Yas Marina, he's made to pose next to Charles for photos, smile and say something nice about him. Shake his hand and repeat the standard lines for this kind of occasions.

Sebastian wonders why so much hassle to convince the media that he and his teammate are the bestest of mates. Everyone knows by now it's not the case at all and if they don't, it's proper obvious that neither is enjoying this. Neither is smiling genuinely and when they wish each other good luck for the race they don't mean it.

But Mattia had made it very clear that there will be no throwing each other under the bus this weekend. Then, they can go home and hate on each other for the next three months for all he cares. But this weekend they have to man up and behave like proper adults.

And despite not appreciating a second of it, Charles is taking this role very seriously.

On the grid, he drags Seb along to his interviews for Italian TV because _“Seb, Seb is the star here”_ , even though Sebastian himself is drinking heftily from his water bottle and looking like he's not interested at all. But Charles doesn't take the hint or he ignores it, judging by the arm that is slung around his shoulders. Sebastian tries not to wince visibly.

The reporter's eyes brighten up, thrilled to have him join them as Charles finishes off his answer.

_“And concerning your fight for third in the championship, are you allowed to race today or is there an agreement between the team?”_

Sebastian shrugs off Charles' arm. “We're free to race.”

“The team stands behind the fastest man” Charles says at the same time.

So, Sebastian is fighting by himself. And they're far from best friends. But he knew that already before the weekend got underway, walked into Abu Dhabi with his eyes wide open. He's not expecting some sort of a compromise from Charles' side nor would he be happy to settle with one. They'll just have to race and hope for it to be fair and on equal terms.

The Ferraris have qualified third and fourth, locking the second row of the grid. Staring across at him teammate, Sebastian is well aware that beating him today will be no easy task. Indisputably, the momentum is with Charles at the moment. He is the one leading in the standings out of the two of them. He has the whole of Ferrari, if not the whole of Italy, backing him up through every step of the way. Sebastian, on the other hand, has... Well, apart from Jessica he has very few people still cheering for him in the team. But there's still something to fight for here and he won't back down just yet.

He straps his helmet, eases into the cockpit and shakes the hands that buckle him up. And when his eyes meet with his teammate's through their visors mere seconds before the lights go out, Sebastian knows the battle is very much on and he can't do much about it. May the best man win.

When everything completely shuts down in the cockpit all of a sudden and the car brings itself into a halt, Sebastian can't believe it's real.

He stands behind the barriers, helmet clutched so tightly that his palm is sweating and his knuckles have turned a sickly white, watching as marshals roll his Ferrari away from the circuit and his teammate darts past. This is not fair, none of this year has been fair! He was doing so well up to that point, he was racing his heart out, chasing after the only thing that was left to chase after, and now what? He walks away with nothing in the end and needing to take his frustrations out on something, he turns and kicks onto a loose rock.

This is it, then. His year done and dusted. His teammate gets third in the championship and he disappears from the rest of the world in Switzerland till it's spring and he has to do this all over again. Sebastian sighs. He feels drained. He can barely drag his own feet back to the motor home, he can't even begin to think about next year.

With his head ducked and his brows knitted in a deep frown, he picks up his gear and starts walking back. Marshals clasp his shoulder and flash him small smiles as he walks past them. Quite frankly, he appreciates the gesture. Jessica's broken and suspiciously wet apology on the radio is all he has received today and she has been repeating the same words the entire season. It's nice to know that someone else cares, too.

Britta is already waiting for him on the stairs of the Ferrari motor home and Seb slumps into her arms, needing that kind of connection to someone right now. She doesn't deny him, even if her papers (most likely the list of the media he is meant to be making an appearance to) get all wrinkled and folded up as he collapses against her. Instead, she gently cards her fingers through his curls, rubs the small of his back and promises that he did great. Sebastian nods, despite not really believing her, and acutely aware of the camera that is lurking behind him, he straightens up and lets go of her.

Britta is his constant ray of light, that person he can always count on to make his life easier. She promises to limit media commitments as much as possible and do most of the job herself and Sebastian thanks her quietly. And when she dumps a cap over his head, not his custom Ferrari cap but one of those winner's caps that Pirelli keeps around for the podium ceremony, despite all his misery and disappointment, Sebastian can't help but smile.

Antti pokes his head through the door on his room as he strips off his racing gear, commenting in typical Finnish fashion that there's always next year. From the look on his trainer's eyes, Sebastian knows he's worried about him. But honestly emotional stuff has never been Antti's strong suit and he just appreciates the effort.

After that, Sebastian is practically left alone. He wants to crawl to and sob in Jessica's embrace but there are still a few loose ends that she needs to take care of. So, at least for the time being, he'll have to make it through by himself.

But it's so damn hard to even try when there are voices inside his own head screaming at him that he failed. He remembers Monza and those cruel fans that told him via gestures and taunting smiles that he doesn't deserve Ferrari. And maybe he really doesn't if he loses everything like that literally in the finish line.

He drops to the floor, presses his back against the cold wall, pulls his knees up to his chest and buries his face in his hands. Tears prickle in his eyes but he doesn't want to cry, not today. He drags in a puff of air in hopes of it clearing his daze and helping him get a grip on his emotions. Only that it comes out strangled and before he knows it there are tears streaming down his cheeks.

At some point, the tears cease. He cries so much that they can't keep up with him and eventually he runs out of them. He remains a collapsed heap on the floor, a picture of defeat and resignation. His eyes are screwed tightly shut, a migraine building in his temples and he feels as if he's floating, as if pain pierces through him without actually touching him. And it's so dam nice. If only he could stay like this forever.

Soon, he'll have to leave the shelter of the motor home. Squeeze the team's hands that come with words of apology none of them really feels like offering. Plaster the bravest face he can muster right now and face the media. Have his teammate's success rubbed in and everyone question whether he deserved this in the first place.

Sebastian swears if he catches even the plain insinuation of this, he might cry again. And suffering a full on mental breakdown in front of the media is not part of his agenda. Especially not right after he's been spectacularly beaten by his teammate to the only thing that mattered.

He sucks in a breath clear of his emotions and it takes him a second before he realizes he's not alone anymore. Someone is scraping their nails through the short hair at the nape of his neck. Sebastian knows only one person in the whole of Abu Dhabi tonight that would do such a thing for him.

He unscrews his eyelids, squinting at the room that feels too bright even though all lights are dimmed, and immediately recognizes Jessica crouched next to him. He was expecting her to seek him out once she was done with the the team. But clearly she's not here to be a source of comfort if her eyes are red rimmed and tears are splashing down her cheeks.

“I'm sorry” she whispers more with her lips than her mouth, brokenly and her fingers move across the red of her jeans to link with Sebastian's on his lap. “I should have built you a stronger car, I should have pushed things more... You don't deserve this, you deserve the world...”

Sebastian is unable to do much beside staring and holding her hand as she falls apart. He wants to tell her this is not her fault, _none_ of this is her fault and if it wasn't for her, he probably wouldn't even have made it this far. He wishes he could make her pain disappear. But he feels lost for words, he who always has a witty response ready at hand, and he curses the bad timing.

But Jessica has always been the strongest out of the two of them. She was the one to support him through this and he was just a sobbing mess. She was the one to shoulder all this mess that Seb failed to even grasp, let alone handle. If this conclusion has destroyed her to such an extent, then really what kind of a chance did Sebastian stand to keep his act together through this? And what words can he find that will make this okay?

So, he does the only thing that comes to mind. He winds an arm around her shoulders and pulls her against him as she cries in his chest. Sebastian feels a stray tear slip from the corner of his eye as he tucks his face in her curls. This season hasn't been what they expected at all and it has broken them both in so many ways. But they have each other and maybe this is all that matters.

When they walk away from the circuit that night, steps in sync and hands brushing against each other, the world is difficult to drown out. The team is still celebrating with Charles (most of the team anyway; regardless of how hard she squints, she can't spot Stefano or Domenico among them), squealing when he shakes a bottle of champagne and then promptly sprays it over them. You'd think they've won the championship and not third freaking place with the way everyone is beaming, patting his back and looking thrilled with how well he has done this year.

It gives Seb a pause. During his time with Ferrari, he's had seasons where he finished third, too. He was also a runner up twice before that breakthrough year that saw him clinch the title. But barring this one occasion, they had never celebrated it, especially not that cheerfully. They had shaken each other's hands, offered small smiles of mutual understanding but the very next day they were on a plane to Italy to land their butts on uncomfortable desk chairs and rattle their brains about next season's car. Evidently, Charles' case is different and it causes something to clench in his chest unpleasantly.

“You know it doesn't feel that bad forever, right?” Jessica is watching him with concern filled eyes and a frown etched between her brows. “It gets better.”

The corner of Sebastian's mouth twitches up in a quiet scoff.

_Does it ever?_

He nods, despite not believing her. And then he shifts and presses a kiss on her forehead despite the fact that they're in public view.

He smiles, “Let's get out of here.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have a playlist for this fic so if anyone is interested, just leave a comment below and I'll share it with you :)
> 
> Also, please bear with my shameless self promotion here. A couple of weeks back I posted [a fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24372538) in the Ford V Ferrari fandom. It's F/M, features an unusual pairing and it means a lot to me so if you could check it out, it would really make my day. Pretty please? *puppy eyes*
> 
> If you enjoyed, please kudo or comment. I'm in serious need of some cheering up :D


End file.
